


How to Make Jam

by Zorak23



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cooking Lessons, Draco tries to make it Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Forced Marriage, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, Luna is taking none of Draco’s shit, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Rated T for language, cooking together, marriage law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zorak23/pseuds/Zorak23
Summary: Draco wanted to apologise. Luna wanted to make jam.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25
Collections: Happy Birthday Ana and Renee!





	How to Make Jam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megamegaturtle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/gifts).



> Happiest of birthdays to Megamegaturtle Ana!!! I hope you enjoy this little fic. You deserve all the love today!!!
> 
> As always, Black Lives Matter and trans rights are human rights. 
> 
> Beta Love: FaeOrabel, who makes it seem like I know how to write.

Draco was incensed. He furiously stalked through the halls of the Ministry, the Summons clutched so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were stark white against the parchment he was holding. Oblivious to the people leaping out of his way to avoid the outrage that was pouring off him in waves, he finally reached the offices of the newly created Magical Marriages Department. The mousey little wizard behind the desk barely glanced up at him as he slammed open the door. 

“Name,” the wizard said in a bored voice. 

“Draco Malfoy,” he hissed. 

“Right this way.” The man rose from behind the desk and led Draco down yet another hall. He took the still visibly angry man to a comfortably appointed office, opened the door, and ushered him inside. 

“Your nine o’clock is here, ma’am,” said the man, and Draco nearly hexed him for his tone. He snarled as the wizard pushed past him to leave the office, and was slightly mollified to see a sliver of fear in his eyes as he passed. 

“That’s enough of that, if you please,” said Madam Edgecombe, frowning at him. “I gather you know why you are here today?”

Draco sneered at the woman behind the desk. Her daughter had been a year ahead of him in school, albeit of a different house; it was obvious that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. In the post-war world, Draco had little respect for the opportunistic and power-hungry souls who had taken advantage of the resulting chaos to advance their own careers. Marietta’s mother was especially vile—her promotion from Floo Network Regulator to Head of the Magical Marriages Department smacked of cronyism, and Draco could nearly _see_ Umbridge’s fingerprints on the placement. 

He thrust the parchment at the woman, and she scowled at him. “Now if you would just take your place beside Miss Lovegood—”

“Wait.”

“Excuse me?” Madam Edgcombe said, contempt coloring her words at the interruption. 

“Why is she being forced into this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Draco angrily ran his fingers through his hair. “Why is _she,”_ he flung an arm wildly in Luna’s direction, “being punished? What could she have _possibly_ done wrong?”

“Wrong? No one has done anything _wrong,”_ Madam Edgecombe began, only to be cut off once again. 

“If that were true, there wouldn’t be such harsh penalties for non-compliance. If we weren’t being punished, we would be able to pick our own partners. If this wasn’t just another way to reprove former Death Eaters, we wouldn’t have been given Summons to appear to be fucking _married_ on the same bloody day you sent the gods be damned owl!”

 _“Everyone_ who falls under the age constraints received the same Summons, and breaking the seal on the parchment triggers a silencing spell. _No one_ is to have forewarning, Mr Malfoy. The only way to save Magical Britain from extinction is to re-enact the Marriage Law of 1563. Now, if you would please—”

“Will she be punished if I refuse?”

Madam Edgecombe looked at Draco with exasperation for yet another interruption. “Pardon me?”

Pulling out his wand and holding it between his two hands, he said, “If I snap my wand right now and willingly remit myself to Azkaban for non-compliance, will Miss Lovegood be punished.”

“Yes. You would both be incarcerated immediately. The Matching spell has been completed; this is your only option. Marry, or go to Azkaban. It is your choice.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped in despair. He looked at Luna in anguish, trying to convey his apologies with his eyes. Turning back to the loathsome woman, he gestured for her to proceed. 

All too soon, Draco was escorting his new wife out of the Magical Marriages Department. 

“Bloody ridiculous law,” he muttered under his breath as he gently steered Luna through the halls of the Ministry. “I don’t even have a fucking home to take you to. Not that I would _ever_ take you back to the Manor, even if it hadn’t burnt to the ground…” he glanced down when she gave a little gasp, and flinched. “I’m so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up—”

“That’s alright,” Luna said quietly, patting his arm. “We can go to mine.”

Draco nodded stiffly and led her to an Atrium fireplace so they could Floo to her home. He nodded again to indicate he understood her address and then watched as she disappeared in a flash of green flames. Staring at the now-empty fireplace, Draco took a deep breath and then shuddered violently. Of all the people they could have paired him with, they matched him to the witch who had been held prisoner in his own fucking home. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him, obviously—and impatiently—waiting for their turn with the Floo. Draco snarled under his breath, then violently punched the wall next to the ornate fireplace. Pain radiated up his arm, yet he still managed a sneer for the wizard behind him, who was now gaping in shock. He tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, stepped into the flames, and whirled away. 

When he arrived at the Rookery, Luna was waiting for him as he stepped out of the Floo. Draco wasn’t sure what to say. He shuffled awkwardly on his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets, refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Draco, what happened to your house?”

“It was entailed. The Ministry couldn’t confiscate the Manor or the land.” He ran his hand through his hair again, still not meeting her eyes. “It was tainted. _He_ tainted it. And I couldn’t get rid of it; rid of the stink of dark magic that was in every wall, every stone, every corner, so I burnt it to the ground.”

Luna stared at him, considering her next words. “When did you burn it?” 

“A week after my trial.”

“That was two years ago.”

Draco didn’t reply, but finally risked looking up at her. 

“Where have you been living since?”

He winced. “I’ve a tent on the edge of the property…”

“Right. Well, you live here now. Take this,” she handed him a large basket that she’d Summoned from somewhere, and he marveled at the casual display of wandless magic. 

“I’m sure I can manage my things without a basket,” he began, slightly offended but reluctant to show it. 

“Don’t be silly. The Dirigible plums are ready to be harvested. You hold the basket; I’ll pick.”

“Er, right. Okay. I can do that,” he replied, confused at the order, but willing to do anything to make things easier for his… wife. He followed her out the front door, and looked up at his new home. The name of the place made sense, now; the stone house looked like a rook from a giant’s chess set. Draco had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, other than following the witch and holding the basket, but reckoned he’d give it his best. 

Though they worked in companionable silence, Draco’s mind raced the entire time. He started to say something numerous times, only to hold himself back before uttering a sound. It simply wasn’t fair for the Ministry to saddle her with the likes of him. Draco was under no illusions as to what he’d become. The two years post war had been hard—harder than anything he’d ever imagined. His father was sentenced to life in Azkaban, yet never even made it to the island. The deplorable man managed to insult those sent to guard him, and he’d died in a Ministry holding cell. No effort had been made to find out which fellow prisoner was the culprit. 

Draco’s mother was sentenced to house arrest, and chose to serve out her sentence in the one Malfoy property in France they’d been allowed to keep. She wasn’t permitted visitors—other than the monthly appointment with her parole officer—and so it was several weeks before her body had been discovered. Professor Snape had always cautioned the Slytherins against mixing certain potions with alcohol, and now Draco knew why. 

He wondered where his wife’s father was. The man didn’t appear to be home, although Draco supposed he could have his newspaper offices elsewhere. He didn’t presume to think Xenophilius Lovegood would be pleased in the slightest once he found out his only daughter had been married off to a former Death Eater—even if he had been a reluctant one. Come to think of it, Draco decided he was rather dreading his first official meeting with his father-in-law. 

“Alright, I think that’s everything.” His wife’s words startled him out of his musings. He blinked in surprise when he looked down at the now-full basket—when had that happened?—but he shrugged off the bewilderment and followed Luna back inside. Once in the kitchen, she directed him to place the basket near the sink and began washing the fruit. After she finished, she pulled out a wooden chopping board and a knife, handing them both to him and pointing to a stool on the other side of the counter. 

“Halve and pit the plums, then chop and place them in here,” Luna instructed, putting a large bowl near the cutting board. Draco nodded and began his task as she flitted away, pulling out a large cauldron and setting it on the hob. As she gathered what he assumed were the ingredients for whatever it was she planned to make with the plums, she asked, “Why were you living in a tent?”

Draco winced. Hunching his shoulders over the Dirigible plums, he said, “The Ministry confiscated the Malfoy vaults, and the only properties they didn’t take were the Manor and the chateau in France. You already know what happened to the Manor, and after Mother…”

“Oh yes, I remember reading about that. I’m sure you miss her very much.”

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, continuing to chop the plums. 

“I still miss my mother. Sometimes it makes me quite sad that she’s gone, and sometimes it makes me angry that she left. Loss is like that, Draco. There is no wrong way to grieve.” He risked a glance up at her, and watched as she measured out a large amount of what he assumed to be sugar, along with water and a cream-coloured powder he couldn’t identify. Without breaking her concentration, she asked, “Is that why you were so angry at the Ministry today?”

“Gods, no,” he huffed. “I was angry that you were being forced to marry me. For Salazar’s sake, Lovegood. You were held prisoner in my fucking home. You shouldn’t have to be anywhere near me.”

“Malfoy.”

“Yes?”

“No, you meant ‘Malfoy’, not ‘Lovegood’.”

“Oh gods,” Draco muttered, pushing away the now-full bowl of chopped plums and rubbing his hands over his face. “I am _so_ sorry. Look, I won’t bother you. I won’t touch you; you can live how you want. I’m rather sure they’ll check up on us, so if I could put my tent near your house, we could pretend—”

“Put those plums in the cauldron, please, and then pour the water over them,” Luna interrupted. Draco shook his head as if to clear it, startled by the seemingly non-sequitur, before he remembered they were making… something. 

“Right. Of course.” He moved to do as she bade, but before he could continue with his plans to keep from intruding into her life any more than absolutely necessary, she spoke again.

“Stir until it boils, then cover the pot and reduce the heat to a simmer. I remember being at your house, you know. I cannot say it was the best time I’ve ever had whilst visiting someone, but I don’t think it was as torturous as you’re remembering.”

“You were held prisoner in the bloody dungeon. Of course it was torturous,” he scoffed. 

“I’m sure it would have been,” she agreed, “if only there hadn’t been someone there who made sure we had enough food to eat and enough blankets to keep warm, and who risked his own safety to make sure we had soft beds and whatever healing potions we needed.”

“That still doesn’t make up for—”

“Take the lid off the cauldron and add the sugar now, please. Raise the heat and bring it back to a full boil. You’ll have to stir it constantly, and then add the pectin—that powder there—and keep stirring. You are not the one who kidnapped me, Draco. You are the one who made sure I survived.”

The tips of Draco’s ears reddened, but he followed her instructions exactly. The mixture started to foam, and before he could ask what to do, Luna tossed in a couple pats of butter. Miraculously, the foaming went down, and he was able to add the pectin with no further problems. By the time she told him he could stop stirring and to extinguish the flame from under the cauldron, he had nearly processed what she’d said about her time in his former home. 

“Still,” he said quietly, as he helped her fill the numerous jars with the cooked plum mash they’d made. “You deserve better than me.”

“And you deserve to live in a home instead of a tent. And you deserve to be thanked for ensuring my survival, and Dean’s survival, and Mister Ollivander’s survival. And you deserve forgiveness.”

Draco was silent as they lowered the now filled jars into a different cauldron, this one full of water. A short time later, he helped her remove the hot jars from the boiling water and set them aside to cool. “I… I don’t know how to be a husband,” he admitted quietly. 

Luna shrugged. “I don’t know how to be a wife. But now we both know how to make jam, so maybe that’s a start.”


End file.
